


The Wizarding World of Cormoran Strike

by J_Antebellum



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cormoran Strike - Harry Potter Universe, F/M, Wizarding World, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:35:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28095513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_Antebellum/pseuds/J_Antebellum
Summary: Cormoran Strike is an important auror in the magical world, Robin is a witch trapped in a life with a muggle who rejects her magic. When the two meet, they'll get more than they bargained for.
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 26
Kudos: 23





	1. The protector of the muggles

**Chapter 1:**

The Head of the Auror Headquarters woke up sprawled eagle on the king-size bed he shared with his fiancée, the gorgeous Charlotte Campbell, granddaughter of the high-society veela Darnelle Campbell. It was raining outside, as it normally did when you lived in the top of the mountains by the Loch Lubnaig in North Scotland, where it was always cold and rainy, but that was where the Campbells had built their four-storeys big manor, that was over a century old, but thanks to magic looked as good as new.

It was Charlotte Campbell who in that moment drank a glass of fire whiskey while she stood in her underwear and lace housecoat, looking through the window at the lake, with her long, dark hair falling over one shoulder and her sculptural, symmetrical, perfect features looking calm and determined.

“Is it raining once again?” the man on the bed inquired unimpressed, his voice tinged with exhaustion as he contained a yawn and scratched his stubbly dark beard.

Like his fiancée, he was only thirty-two, just turned a week previously, but he looked older, while the descendant of a veela, whose birthday was only two days before his, could look younger.

“Indeed, darling,” Charlotte smiled sweetly at him, but it was a cold sweetness, one that wasn't charged with warmth and affection, but there because it was expected to be there. She approached the man on the bed, scratching with a long, perfectly painted nail his hairy, dark mane of hair, as the finger drew a perfect line between his muscled pectorals and to his belly button.

“Like what you see?” he asked raising a smug eyebrow.

“Oh, very much.”

Despite Charlotte's fame of being the biggest liar of the century, she wasn't lying this time. She genuinely enjoyed her fiancé's rough and virile appearance; his unruly dark curls, smoothed into tight waves thanks to potion, and just long enough to cover part of his neck, his hairy, thick eyebrows, his slightly-twisted nose, his lip, that looked cleft due to battles from which he hadn't wanted to heal using magic, his broad shoulders, his big size in everything, and even the fact that his lower right leg was a magical prosthesis that now lied on the floor. She enjoyed the gruffy-looking man with his stubbly beard and his dark green eyes, adored his sullen expressions, his power, his strength, and preferred him over any prince charming, and he knew it, and took pride on it.

She kissed him raw, with possessiveness, in the same way she had him every night, almost drawing blood from his already swollen lower lip, always moving in the thin line between pain and pleasure that he had grown used to.

“Will you spend Christmas with me?” she asked, pulling apart.

“Lottie, you know I hate it with your family, I want to be with mine this year. Last year we were alone, and that was great,” he sat up, nude, and stretched a hand to grab his wand from the bedside table, “but you know Aunty Joan was ill this summer, and I would very much like to spend some days with them over the holidays. You may come.” He added, when she scowled.

They had already had this, not argument, but actual fight, twice that week. Neither of them was a great fan of the holidays, but none wanted to spend them alone. With his wand, he made the prosthesis fly to him and put it on.

“Your family deeply dislikes me, and your sister will bring that mudblood—,”

“I told you not to call him mudblood,” he stood up looking severe at her, his eyebrows forming a thick line and his lips pressed together, forming their standard shape of looking a bit curved, but in the way opposite of a smile. “Unless you're ready to call me half-blood. He is my sister's husband, and their sons are wizards, that should be enough for you to know how to call him properly. Besides, you know I'm against—,”

“The idea that muggles are any less than us,” Charlotte completed for him with a hint of deprecation. “I still don't see how you can consider them as good as we are.”

“I didn't say as good,” he argued, finding a plane dark blue shirt and putting it on, honouring his middle name, “they're better. Smarter. If you saw the technologies they've got...” Charlotte puffed. “You will have to admit that Nick is a wickedly smart ex-Ravenclaw. Doesn't seem like he comes from a family of silly people, doesn't it?”

“You know I don't like your friends.”

“You don't like anyone I love, Charlotte,” the tall man snorted a laugh, putting on his boxers. “But that's fine. I dislike your family about as much as you do in exchange. Kiss me.” He pressed his lips against hers as he buttoned-up his shirt and pulled apart with a smirk, putting his trousers on. “I will see you tonight?”

“For dinner at Nick and Ilsa's? No... but you may crash here afterwards,” Charlotte suggested, touching her naked chest suggestively. Her fiancé smiled, tucking his shirt under his trousers and putting on his waistcoat, jacket, and long dark robe with the dark blue inside.

“Good for me. I better go, I have tons of work. I love you,” he said, leaning for a softer kiss. She cupped his cheek, kissing him tenderly now.

“Good luck. Love you Bluey.”

He smiled, and waved his wand to get his briefcase packed, hanging it from his shoulder and walking out of the room with his shinning black shoes on. He had to walk all the way to the front garden, using a charm to keep himself dry from the rain, but there he was finally able to apparate in London. Before going to the Ministry that morning, the wizard had to run some errands in Greenwich, where a group of muggle-hating vandals had been creating a mess recently, regularly throwing curses on muggles and mocking them, threatening the protection of the secrecy of magic and also hurting innocent people. His best friend since pretty much birth, Ilsa Herbert, who was the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, for which he worked, and half-blood, had been furious and he had assured her he would check it out himself, instead of sending some of his aurors.

He apparated in Greenwich, walked through the great gardens frequently filled with tourists, and reached the streets full of muggles. Since his tunic looked like a extraordinarily long coat with too loose sleeves, he only got a few weird glances, but due to his sullen expression of person capable of committing a crime with a clean conscience, they kept them to a minimum. Sitting on a bench by an alley, pretending to be a homeless, it wasn't long until he saw some boys, looking to be in their late teens, possibly wizards who had just left Hogwarts, laughing and walking like they owned the place, dragging a muggle teen. They threw the muggle to the ground and pointed the wands against him. The muggle had been cursed so his legs moved out of control, and he was babbling without making any sense.

“We'll show this muggle who's inferior to whom,” one of the teenagers said smugly.

The senior wizard waved his wand from behind them, and the teenagers were thrown backwards, their wands flowing towards him, so he could catch them with the skills of a keeper.

“I'm afraid you are not good examples,” he said, breaking their wands one by one. The curses on the muggle ended, and before he could run away, he threw him a good _obliviate_ to take the memories of the events from him. The muggle then stood, confused, not knowing what had happened and seeing the boys on the ground. “Go!” he shouted.

The muggle ran away, and the auror approached the group of teens grumbling on the floor, getting up between groans of pain.

“What the hell...?” one of them inquired, looking at the older wizard. “Give us our wands.”

“Sure,” he threw the pieces of wands to the ground. “Take them.”

“He broke them! You'll pay for this!”

“I am Cormoran Strike, Head of the Auror Headquarters,” the senior wizard said. “And you've broken the law. I'm afraid I will have to take you with me to the Ministry so Wizengamot can decide what we do with nasty bastards like you.”

But then, suddenly, everything went black.

. . .

A groan woke Strike up before he realize it was he who was groaning, and his head hurt a little. He blinked awake and sat up on what seemed like a sofa in front of a muggle TV. Between both there was a long rectangular coffee-table on which sat his wand and a mug of tea. Strike frowned, trying to remember why would he be there, and where was 'there', but all he could remember were the teenagers he had been prepared to arrest.

“Thank Merlin, for a moment there I thought it might be serious,” Strike turned around and saw a young woman approaching. She was beautiful, with long strawberry-blonde hair and piercing, kind, blue-grey eyes framed by long blondish eyelashes. She looked serious, but gave him a small smile as they looked at each other and she came to sit on an armchair next to him. “I'm Robin Cunliffe. Drink that, it's not ordinary tea, it'll help you with the headache.”

Strike took the tea and gave it a long sip before looking back at this Robin Cunliffe.

“What happened?” Strike asked her then.

“You were going to arrest some vandals who were, once again, bugging muggles. I've been watching them for a while, trying to catch them, but they were too many against one. I was the one who gave the warning to the Ministry. You almost had them, but then, as I was observing hidden, I saw this older, tall wizard... I couldn't see his face. He threw some curse at you, it was purple, I've never seen it before, and the teens ran away. I didn't trap anyone, but I got the man's wand, I disarmed him and brought you here, this is my house. We're still in Greenwich.” Robin dressed as a muggle, but in her jacket there was a long wand pocket, right in the inside part, from which she pulled a wand that she gave to Strike. “I heard you're an auror.”

“Cormoran Strike. Head of them,” Strike introduced himself, taking the wand, impressed, and shaking her hand. “Outstanding job Ms Cunliffe, thank you. The Ministry will be happy to offer you a compensation.” He added, digging in his pocket to grab some galleons, as he put his wand and the other in his pocket. She grinned, but shook her head.

“Keep your money, Mr Strike. And it's Mrs, actually.”

“Oh,” Strike nodded, and took another sip of his tea, feeling better and better. “Lucky man. How come you live...?” he motioned to the muggle surroundings, and she blushed. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't ask...”

“No, don't worry. My husband, Matt, is a muggle. He's gone out,” Robin explained. “We only married a few months ago, but we decided this was nice enough.” She added, looking around as if she was trying to convince herself this was nice. Strike nodded slowly.

“So what do you do? I haven't seen you around the Ministry, I'd remember,” he commented with a polite smile, making his frown disappear. Robin looked at him like a deer caught in highlights.

“No, I don't work there,” Robin assured. “As a matter of fact, I don't have a job yet. I only graduated four years ago and haven't found something I liked.”

“Oh, I can help you with that, I'd write you a recommendation letter after what you've done today,” Strike smiled sincerely, which was unusual for him, “tell me what you like. I could get you a teaching position in Hogwarts, or introduce you to the captain of the Holyhead Harpies, I think old Florean Fortescue was looking for hirings as well, and—,”

“Mr Strike, I truly appreciate it,” Robin looked nervous, and stood up, “but you need to go. Now, I just saw my husband's car pulling into the driveway,” she motioned to the window, “hurry up, you can disapparate from the back garden.”

“All right,” Strike stood up, stupefied. “Does your husband not like wizards?” he asked incredulous as he walked behind her, following her outside. It seemed odd for him to think that a muggle who married a witch wouldn't like magic.

“Exactly,” Robin answered tensely, practically pushing him outside as they heard the main door opening. “Thank you Mr Strike, and sorry for rushing you out.”

“No problem. I hope we meet again soon, Mrs Cunliffe,” Strike said with a small smile. They both heard a man's voice calling Robin and he hated to see panic in her eyes. He wondered what was going on. “If you ever need anything, ask for me in the Ministry. Everybody knows me there.”

Robin nodded, and waved tensely, going back inside. Strike hid behind the door Robin had closed and listened as a man shouted inside, very angrily. He heard movement, something breaking, something falling, and a woman's scream.

  
  



	2. Just wanna keep you safe

**Chapter 2:**

Without thinking twice, Strike became his animagus shape of a curly-coated retriever, a big dark dog with curly hair and forty kilos of weight. He pushed the door open with his strong paws, and rushed inside. It had taken a lot of magic for him to not lose his leg in his animagus shape, which wasn't usual. Normally, if you lost a limb as a human, you did it in your animal form as well, but he had gotten Albus Dumbledore's help so that his animal shape wouldn't suffer the physical transformations he might suffer as an adult. It had taken a lot of work, magic, and he could only do it with his prosthesis on, but once managed, it gave Strike the opportunity to run again, and be athletic, which he had felt incredibly grateful for. If it wasn't for that, he would've probably been depressed after losing his lower right half of leg.

Strike's dog nose led him to quickly find the smell of Robin's sweet perfume and of someone else, and blood. He ran to the kitchen and found Robin on the floor, wrestling with a handsome man, who was shouting at her to give him her wand, punching her and slapping her to get it. There was a tea mug made pieces on the floor, and two chairs also on the floor. Strike growled hard and the other man looked up, confused.

“What's a dog doing here?” he said angrily. “Out! You left the fucking gate open again, didn't you, bitch?” he kicked Robin hard, and she sobbed, curling into a ball. Strike barked and showed his teeth. “You're pissed I kicked her, uh? Get out. Get out!” the man grabbed a knife from a drawer and when he was about to go after Strike, Strike jumped and his jaws grabbed onto the man's arm.

The knife dropped with a clatter and the man shouted, trying to get rid of Strike, who sank his fangs on the bone, feeling it crack and the blood between his teeth. Strike finally jumped away and went back to his human shape, pointing his wand at the man with a drop of blood dripping down his mouth. He spat the blood of the other man and shouted.

“ _Petrificus totalus!_ ” the muggle man fell to the floor, petrified, and Strike, cleaning his mouth with a wave of his wand, ran to Robin. “Are you okay?”

Robin looked up, confused. She had blood pouring down her forehead and lip, and was holding her arm, sobbing softly and looking to be in pain.

“How did you...? What...?” she babbled, her cheeks wet with tears.

“I'm an animagus,” Strike explained, and pointed his want to her face, “ _Episkey!_ ” her facial wounds instantly healed, as if they had never happened. He ten pointed to her arm. “ _Ferula!_ ” Robin's right arm was instantly bandaged and splinted, and Robin barely yelped. It felt much better right away.

“Thank you...”

“Skelegro will do the rest,” Strike said, helping her to her feet. “Does he hit you often?” Robin's shameful look, lowering her face, told him it all. Strike sighed. “Robin, it's not your fault. You're a good person.”

“I know what you think of me. That I'm pathetic. A witch afraid of her muggle husband.”

“I don't think so,” Strike assured her, recovering her wand from the other man, apparently her husband Matt or Matthew. “I assure you, I get it. You love him, and if he says he doesn't want you to ever use magic, that's what you do. Eventually, he manages for you to feel so little, you lose the capacity to protect yourself. You are selfless.”

“He's my husband. I know he loves me,” Robin knelt next to Matthew, caressing his face. “Matthew... his arm... what did you do?”

“Don't you worry, you know I can fix it,” Strike reassured her. “Robin, we need to pack your things and go. I will obliviate him and create a new memory in which you've left him. He won't remember today, he'll think he fell and got concussed.”

“I can't leave him.”

“I'm afraid you don't have a choice, although I'd like for you to this voluntarily,” Strike was already waving his wand and Robin's suitcases came from upstairs and filled with contents that flew across the house, folding and putting themselves inside.

“You can't force me...” Robin said apprehensively, knelt next to her husband. “I can protect myself.”

“Robin,” Strike sighed, kneeling next to her, “my job is to protect. I won't leave you here knowing he hits you, knowing you're unhappy, knowing you're condemned to a life in which your magic is repressed. Please, Robin, come with me willingly. I'll find you a home to stay, you can start anew, get a job you like, go back to the magical world... don't tell me you don't miss it. When was the last time you walked down Diagon Alley, had an ice-cream at Florean Fortescue, flew on a broomstick, or just had lunch with your family? Because they're Weasleys, right? You look like a Weasley.”

“I'm an Ellacott,” Robin answered shyly. “My family lives in Masham. Haven't seen them since the wedding, Matthew dislikes them for being...” she shrugged, her voice low and her person small.

“Magical,” Strike finished for her. Masham was one of the little magical villages in Yorkshire, although Strike had never been there. “You can visit them again.”

“I don't think I can apparate anymore...” Robin murmured, embarrassed. “Lack of practice.”

“I'll take you to them. Robin, if you stay here you will die from sadness...”

Muffling a sob, Robin nodded and reached to take the wedding ring off Matthew's finger. She removed hers as well and with a wave of her hand, turned them both to ashes. Then she stood up, rubbing her eyes. Strike walked to her and put a hand on her shoulder.

“Hey...” he felt terribly sad for her. “It's going to get better. I promise you.” Robin sniffled.

“How did I let this happen, Cormoran?” she asked, and his name pronounced for the first time in her mouth sounded like true magic. “I'm so pathetic... I let him take my friends away, everything... Haven't seen a friend since Hogwarts. Matthew forbid everyone magical from the wedding, except my family.”

“I am your friend, and I'm sure the others will be happy to come back,” Strike said optimistically. He wanted to hug her, but felt it wasn't appropriate. They barely knew each other. “And for what I've seen, you're far from pathetic. You're an extraordinarily talented witch who fell in love with the wrong person. That's all.”

“Take me home?” she begged, tears in her eyes. Strike nodded and looked at the piled suitcases and boxes. There were no more objects flying around, which meant everything that was hers was packed. “My parents are Michael and Linda Ellacott. They'll know what to do.”

Strike tapped the suitcases with his wand, and they disapparated. Next, he went to Matthew. With his wand, he bandaged Matthew's arm like Robin's, and then he obliviated him. Then, on a second thought, he kicked his nose, that bleed. Robin snorted a laugh, shaking her head.

“That'll give him something to think about,” he whispered, putting an arm around Robin.

In a blink of an eye, they stood in the middle of the countryside. They walked together down a path Robin knew well, with flowers at both sides, under a blasting sun. The Ellacotts lived outside the town, by the river Ure, in a farm. They entered the farm area, and walked between loose horses, that Robin saluted and hugged, to his astonishment, until they reached a brown brick house with smoke coming out of the chimney and a general look of something homey and nice.

Strike checked his watch. He was already very late to work.

“Listen, Robin, I must go, they need me at the Ministry. Your things will be inside,” Strike motioned to the house with his head. “And you come to find me any time you want, all right?”

“Right,” Robin nodded. “Thank you for everything.”

“No problem. And take the potion I told you,” Strike pointed to his arm. “Take care Robin.”

He turned around and walked a few metres. When he looked back, Robin was hugging her mother by the front door, or a woman that Strike assumed to be her mother. With a calmer mind, Strike apparated back in London, and hurried to the Ministry entrance, rushing to the public bathrooms and then stepping into the toilet. He wondered, every time, if they couldn't find a better entrance for their workers, and soon he was in the dark rooms of the Ministry.

Strike waisted no time in getting into his dog shape and running to the lift. Because the animagus form adopted some qualities of the wizard when he was wearing something, his hair seemed to cover his private parts as if it were boxers made of hair, although Strike felt it like his underwear. He trotted quickly between wizards and witches' legs and arrived at the Auror Headquarters, rushing through lines of desks to the door that marked the entrance of his office.

“Finally,” his best friend Ilsa scolded him, sitting in front of his desk, as she saw the familiar dog come in. Soon, Strike was back into his human shape and sitting at his desk. “What took you so long?”

“I'm sorry, something came up,” Strike looked at Ilsa. She was tall, curvaceous, with a long face and round features, her eyes blue-green, bespectacled, and her hair wavy and fair, pulled back in a semi-bum. She gave him a serious look. “Good news is the problem has been fixed.”

Her appearance changed into one of being pleased, and she gifted him a smile as he leaned to kiss her cheek as a greeting, like he always did.

“I knew I could trust you,” Ilsa said proudly.

“Well, we do have a problem though. It was teenagers, I broke their wands, and would have arrested them if I hadn't been attacked from behind,” Ilsa scowled in concern.

“Are you all right?”

“I am now. Turns out Robin Cunliffe, née Ellacott, the woman who told us about the matter, was nearby and was able to knock my attacker down when I had passed-out. She gave me something, it was just a concussion and we're both fine. She explained to me she's tried to stop the teens a bunch of times, they look like they just left Hogwarts, but they're too many against one. Since they will need a new wand, I suggest putting an auror to keep a watch at Ollivander's. She got the wand of my attacker, though,” he pulled it from his tunic and gave it to her.

“Rigid, twenty-two centimetres...” Ilsa examined. “I'll figure out who owns it and arrest him immediately. So this Robin, where is she? We ought to thank her.” Strike sighed.

“I took care of that. She wouldn't accept money, but I helped her get rid of her muggle, abusive husband.”

“What?” Ilsa's eyes widened. “Oh, what did you do?”

“He's fine, don't worry. He had beaten her up, I took care of her and brought her to her family's house in Masham. She's officially single again.”

“She's from the Masham Ellacotts?” Ilsa nodded, thoughtful. “They're a good family. Their family farm sells wool to Madame Malkin, as well as other clothing products, and they have good agriculture products that they also sell out to several places. Michael Ellacott went to Hogwarts with Kingsley, they're buddies.” Kingsley Shacklebolt was the current Ministry of Magic, their friend and boss.

“Oh really?” Strike leaned back in his chair, genuinely surprised. “So Hufflepuff,” he smirked, “that's good.”

“You give far too much importance to houses,” Ilsa rolled eyes, half-smiling. “So how's the wedding planning?” Strike puffed.

“Speaking as a true Gryffindor, aren't you?” Strike joked. “Well, Charlotte still wants to marry at the manor, I still want to marry in St. Mawes, so pretty good we could say.”

Ilsa snorted a laugh and stood up.

“Well the day is calm, so I'm going home to my baby.”

“You shouldn't even be here, you're on leave!” Strike threw her a paper ball playfully and she chuckled, walking away.

“Will we see you tonight for dinner?”

“Sure!”

Ilsa Herbert was the wife of healer Nick Herbert, who was casually best friend of Strike since they had met at Hogwarts, where they had been room-mates, one bed next to the other, through their seven years in Ravenclaw. Ilsa and Nick had married the second they graduated from Hogwarts, and in late August they had had their very first child, a daughter named Elowen.

As she left, Strike sighed and looked towards his paperwork. He was dreading the morning waiting for him.


	3. Abuse

**Chapter 3:**

“So she's a brilliant witch who has been shoved down by her muggle husband?”

Nick Herbert stood pouring two glasses of fire whiskey, one for himself and one for his friend Strike, while Ilsa sat on an armchair nursing baby Elowen and Strike sat down on the sofa nearby. In front of them a chimney was lightened-on and the rain ricocheting against the windows was only perceived as a soft drumming.

“That's right, thanks,” Strike accepted the glass and Nick sat between Strike and his wife's armchair. Several plates of food rested on the coffee table, and Nick munched from one of them, thoughtful.

“What's she gonna do now?” Nick inquired, gulping down. He had fair hair, and although it had started receding in the past couple years, he applied a potion to keep it in a healthy amount. His warm brown eyes stared attentively at Strike as he ate.

“I don't know,” Strike took a canapé and put it into his mouth. Once he had gulped it, he shrugged. “I guess her family will help her. I offered my help.”

“Poor thing,” Ilsa commented, dressed in pyjamas and a housecoat, holding her baby and hiding her chest a little with her housecoat. “Being mentally abused so much you don't even feel like leaving him for hitting you.”

“Sounds familiar,” Nick murmured, giving Strike an understanding look.

Strike's mother Leda had been murdered when he was sixteen. He had been in school, as well as his younger sister Lucy, a Gryffindor like Ilsa, when Professor Dumbledore, who was the headmaster, had called him into his office to give him the terrible news. Leda had been killed while taking care of Strike's brother Lavey, who was eight years younger than Strike, after being subjected to the _Cruciatus_ torture course for hours, and then finally killed with the _Avada Kedavra_ curse, at the hands of Leda's husband, Jeff Whittaker, a low-class wizard that wasn't Strike and Lucy's father and that had since kidnapped Lavey. Their fathers had been a muggle musician in Strike's case, and a wizard musician in Lucy's case, and none of them had been in the picture as they grew up, only Lucy's father had at least bothered to pay child-maintenance and regularly write letters to Lucy. Whittaker had been Leda's only husband, and he had vanished from Earth afterwards. No one had seen him or Lavey in the last five years, and there hadn't been a way to find them, but no one thought Lavey had been hurt. He hadn't attended Hogwarts nor been located to attend it, but Strike knew he was always Whittaker's favourite living being in the world, all he cared about, so he'd at least be safe, even though his disappearance haunted him daily.

“I'm fine,” Strike answered the unspoken, but thought question, eating animatedly. “Robin's not dead, and her family has a nice house.”

“Yeah, they're four siblings. Stephen, the eldest, works with me,” Nick commented.

“Nice people?” the auror inquired.

“Very nice. We went for dinner to Stephen and wife Jenny's house, remember Ilsa?”

“You're right! I had completely forgotten. Wasn't that last year in the summer?”

“Yeah. Stephen's, nine years younger than us,” explained the healer, looking back at his friend, “He only left Hogwarts six years ago, has been working in my team since. He did comment he had a sister who was with a muggle, but nothing else.”

“So Robin comes from a pretty good magical family, and ends up with a tosser of a husband,” Strike puffed, shaking his head. “I hope she gets back in the right path.”

“Talking about right path,” Ilsa intervened, passing the baby to Nick so she could burp and closing her shirt. “Ollivander says he sold the wand to a Troy Charnelis, but that he feels the loyalty has changed. It must be Robin's now. Anyway, I sent someone looking for Charnelis and it appears he's been dead for months. Someone stole the wand from him.”

“Someone who hates muggles,” Strike nodded. “I think whoever's this person, he has been encouraging kids who just left Hogwarts and hate muggles to hurt them under his protection.”

Strike had a bad night, filled with dreams about his mother and the battle that had taken his leg. When he woke up, he was entangled with Charlotte, and he felt like he hadn't rested one bit. Charlotte, feeling him stir, woke up too as looked up at him, frowning and tired.

“What's up with you?” she inquired. “It's still dark.”

“I think Robin may be in danger,” he murmured.

“Who?”

“Robin,” Strike realized he hadn't explained, “a woman I met today. She was living with an abusive husband, and I took her to her parents' house, away from him.”

“Uh...”

“Anyway, she disarmed a wizard that might have killed another wizard, and who tried to kill me,” Strike explained further. “What if he goes after her now?”

“You said she disarmed him.”

“He can get another wand. Steal it or something.”

“God, Bluey, not again...” Charlotte turned around, giving him her back.

“Again what?” he asked confused, sat up frowning at her.

“You always do this, caring too much for anything that remotely resembles your mother's murder. She's just one girl more in the world with some issues, get her off your mind.”

“I'm an au—,”

“—ror, yes,” she finished tiredly, “it's your job to care, but you don't do this for everybody. It's just because she's pretty.”

“I never said she was—,”

“She obviously is. Let me guess, she's got arse and good cleavage? You've always been a sucker for those.”

Strike stared at her shape in disbelief. The moonlight coming through the window drew a white line over her hips and shoulder, illuminating her for him.

“What are you insinuating?” he inquired at last.

“That you,” Charlotte sat up, nailing her eyes on his, “like her. You find her fuckable. And like a good dog, you're marking your property, it pisses you off that someone else got her.”

“Incredible. You're jealous of a poor victim of abuse?”

“Jealous?” Charlotte laughed dryly. “Bluey darling, one's jealous when someone has something they want. I have you, like I could have any men I wanted in the planet, why would I be jealous of her? I'm just fucking tired of standing you talking about every weak woman there is.”

“She's not weak,” he growled, feeling hurt.

“She's not quite strong either, isn't she? She's pathetic, Bluey. You shouldn't lose your time on her. Letting a muggle use her like... ugh.”

Strike had told her a lot about Robin when he had arrived, which Charlotte hadn't been too excited about, but now she was very sincerely annoyed, and he didn't even know how he felt. Was this love?

“I think I'll sleep in another room...” he murmured, reaching for his wand.

“You're not going anywhere,” Charlotte said angrily. “You are my fiancé. My future husband. Start acting like such already. I'm the only woman you're allowed to ramble about, are we clear?”

“But Charlotte—,”

“Are we clear?!” she repeated more firmly, her eyes feeling like blades on him. Strike lowered his head submissively.

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, my love.”

“That's right,” Charlotte grabbed him from the chin. “I'm the woman of your life. I'm your greatest love, and you will never meet someone like me. No one will ever love you like I will. Without me you're nothing but a damaged, ugly, hairy, legless mudblood. With me you are a handsome, talented, skilled, wonderful husband.” Strike pressed his lips together. “Let's not forget that, right love?” she added with a voice suddenly soft and loving, caressing his cheek softly. He nodded, and she leaned, kissing him softly. “I know I'm a bit hard sometimes Bluey, but I only do what's best for you. I'm protecting you from losing everything, what would the community think if they saw the Head of the Auror Headquarters is drooling after a chick like her? Instead of focusing on every citizen? They can't accuse you of favouritism, and you're better off away from her. Look what happened for coming close to her, you got hit on the head, my poor, sweet boy...” she kissed his head, putting her arms around him and kissing his neck and shoulder. “If you're a good boy, I'll let you fuck me real good, uh?”

Strike's body relaxed against her and he hugged her back. She was right. She was only helping him keep his mind on the things that truly mattered, and Robin was just one more girl he met once at work, nothing else. So he nodded and managed a smile, kissing her and pushing his feelings aside.

  
  



	4. First day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for slightly descriptive creepy chapter. And happy new year.

**Chapter 4:**

A few days later, Strike was working at the Ministry of Magic, doing some paperwork, when there was a knock on the door and Robin's head peeked inside. Strike, who hadn't seen her since he had dropped her off at her house, was surprised, and stood up.

“Robin, hi.”

“Hi,” she bit her lip, looking at his desk full of mountains of folders and papers. “I'm sorry, is this a bad moment?”

“Absolutely not,” he assured her, and used his hand to point to the chair across his desk, “please, take a seat.”

Robin closed the door after herself and sat where he said. He was relieved to find she looked in good spirits, healthy, and dressed like a witch, with a tunic. Her arm seemed to have healed.

“You look much happier than last time I saw you,” he smiled politely at her. “Your arm all good?”

“Oh, yeah, it was just broken,” Robin gave him a small smile. “It was all thanks to you really. I was surprised to find the muggles erased my marriage as if it never happened.”

“Yeah, well I spoke with the Minister... he's a friend and... he suggested to take care of the matter, and make sure your relationship with Mr Cunliffe was fully erased. I hope you don't mind.”

“No, it's okay. I was relieved. Anyway, I came because I remembered your offer of helping me find a job... Truth is it's costing me so much, because I've just not been in our world much these past few years. And the kind of job I want is... well... hard to get.”

“Tell me about it?”

“Okay well... I've always wanted to be an auror.”

There was a pause in which Strike looked at her, impressed and amazed at once.

“Have you?” he muttered at last, and she nodded fervently.

“I meet the qualifications, I had 'Outstanding' in all my grades in my seventh year, believe it or not,” Robin said, impressing him further until his eyebrows were brushing with his hairline. “I can apparate, I've been rehearsing at the farm, and I can fly a broom pretty well. I'm just a bit... rusty. But if you gave me a chance, I could prove my worth.”

“All right,” Strike nodded slowly. “You surely had better grades than I did. I'll put you in for trainee auror, under my wing, and I'll take you with me on my duties. If your performance improves with time, I won't have any problem to make you a full auror.”

The beaming smile Robin gave him was, in his opinion, worth every misery he had ever withstood. She was gorgeous, more so than usual, and her eyes got bright with happiness.

“Really?” she asked, gleeful.

“Really, yes,” he managed a small smile, transfixed by her. “You start on Monday.”

Strike accompanied then a very excited Robin to meet the rest of the squad, showed her the headquarters, explained to her what duties were carried by whom, and gave her a quick guide of what things they could or couldn't do, warnings, security procedures, activities they were involved with, and everything that was necessary before sorting out her contract.

“If you have any issues and for whatever reason I'm not around,” Strike explained as they walked between the aurors' desks. “My second-in-command is Ms Kate Radcliffe. Kate,” he called the attention of a wavy-haired brunette with her hair long to her shoulders and dark blue eyes, who was currently talking with a few other aurors. She came with a look of curiosity. She had a squared face and looked to be in her late twenties, “let me introduce you to our newest trainee, Ms Robin Ellacott, I was just explaining to her you're in charge when I'm not around.”

“Oh, pleasure to meet you, welcome,” Kate grinned and offered her a hand she shook. They were about as tall.

“My pleasure,” Robin smiled back.

“You'll like it in here, although it's a bit boring lately. Peaceful, you know... but you can always do vigilance shifts when you're bored. Oh and if you need the big boss, Ilsa will be happy to attend you.”

“Right, Ilsa Herbert is the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, to which the Auror Headquarters belong,” Strike explained. “She's my boss, but she's also my best friend since childhood, so I guarantee you she's one of the best ones around.”

“Super nice lady and very hard-working,” Kate nodded in agreement.

“Herbert...” Robin looked thoughtful, the distance between her eyebrows lessening. “Sounds familiar.”

“Her husband Nick told me your brother Stephen works for him,” Strike commented casually. Robin's eyebrows rose and she clasped her hands.

“That's right! Stephen's told me so much about Nick, says he's a wonderful boss... so I get the other Herbert, nice,” she smiled warmly, excited like a child. “Can we do a small vigilance or something, so I can learn the procedure?”

“Another work-alcoholic,” Kate winked at Strike. “Good job boss.”

“Strike, sir!” a young auror came running, holding a piece of paper. “We just got this message from Kingsley.”

The paper he passed to Strike looked like it had been folded and sealed with the Prime Minister's wax seal, that had his emblem and initials. Strike read it and his eyebrows furrowed.

“Looks like you start today, Robin,” Strike said after reading it, and looked up at Kate. “An attack on muggles, stay here and keep an eye for any novelties from above. Carter, Wallace! With me!” Another man and a woman came running and followed Strike, like Robin, to the chimneys.

The small group apparated in what looked like a camping zone in the middle of the woods. Two officials from the Ministry were already there.

“Good, the Minister sent you,” one of them said, and pointed at the ground.

Between the fallen leaves on the ground, where there wasn't snow although it was quite cold, lied five bodies. It looked like a family, the parents, and three children. Strike instantly shoved back a hand to push Robin backwards.

“Robin, stand back,” Strike indicated, “I don't want you to see this.”

Strike knelt to examine the bodies. The five were dead, with their eyes opened and empty, and they were slit open. It made him feel like throwing up, and for the noise of steps he got, all his aurors had stepped back. The officers from the Ministry had moved away as well.

“It's vicious,” one of the officers said towards him. “Frankly disgusting.”

“How do we know a wizard did this?” Strike asked, standing up.

“Look at the message, between the trees.” One of the officers pointed out.

The Head of the Auror Headquarters looked up and his stomach turned, his eyes widening. What seemed like the intestines of the victims hung in the air by magic, forming a short message. ' _You will go next, Pipsqueak'_. His face lost three layers of colour.

  
  



	5. Learning the ropes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year ;)

**Chapter 5:**

“You've been very quiet.”

While the Ministry handled the bodies, after taking photographs of everything to investigate it, and returned it to the muggle world saying some animal had killed them and they had taken care of it, Strike had taken Robin for a glass of strong alcohol to The Three Broomsticks in the magical village of Hogsmeade, near Hogwarts. It remained to be one of Strike's favourite pubs of all time, and they had sat in a quiet corner, enjoying butterbeer and fire whiskey. Strike had been pale and quiet, immersed in his thoughts, but had taken her there in hopes that she wouldn't be in the Ministry lurking and trying to see the photographs.

“It was a very disgusting scene,” he murmured.

“You don't seem to have lost your appetite,” she commented casually, pointing at the empty plate in front of him. “Cormoran, who killed that family? Why would anybody do it, because they're muggles?”

“Probably,” Strike answered. “We'll figure it out.”

“How?”

“I don't know. We will run some surveillances, we will investigate if the family could've gotten in trouble with anyone, we will send an expert in magical creatures to tell us if it is possible one might be after that, like a werewolf or something, there will be aurors looking around the forest in case there are witnesses willing to talk.”

“If a wizard or a witch is behind it, we will never find them. With magic, it's just too easy to run away, to hide somewhere, cover your tracks... or you can be like Gellert Grindelwald or Lord Voldemort, and cause a war,” said Robin sadly.

Gellert Grindelwald had caused the First Wizarding War, which had ended when Dumbledore himself had managed to imprison him in Nurmengard, Austria, forty-five years previously. He was considered the most dangerous wizard of all time until, in 1960, Lord Voldemort had risen to power, becoming worse than Grindelwald himself.

He and his Death Eaters had been responsible of countless deaths and disappearances, and Strike had only been sixteen when he had been defeated, after fifteen years of war that had marked his entire childhood and teenage years, and in which his uncle, Ted, had combated. Voldemort had only been defeated when the Order of the Phoenix, created during its time, had faced him, in a war that had partially destroyed Hogwarts, and the first one in which Strike, now orphan of mother, had fought alongside his friend Nick, while his sister and Ilsa were evacuated with the rest of the students that were younger than sixteen. It had been the end of his fifth year in the castle, and the beginning of, when the summer came and he had to deal with the memories of the war and the realization that his mother wouldn't appear there that summer, a long period of depression.

“The first thing you need to learn on this job, Robin, is that most of the time we can't catch who did something, for the reasons you just gave. So our job, most of the time, reduces to combat, surveillances, assisting in the event of an attack or war, pursuing any odd activity to see what's happening, vigilance...”

“Yeah,” Robin nodded. “The downside of the magic world, isn't it? Anyone can get away with things.”

“Very often yes. But we do have Azkaban and I have trapped a lot of people in my career, it's just... particularly difficult. You need to catch them while doing something, or else they'll run and hide.”

She nodded, taking a large sip of her butterbeer. She could sense something was bothering him deeply, but she didn't know if she had any right to know. They barely knew each other, after all.

“We'll catch them, you will see,” she decided it was best to be optimistic and positive, and she showed herself that way. “What do you think of the message they left?” Strike's expression got suddenly ashen and she worried she had asked the wrong thing. “What's wrong?” she inquired with a soft frown.

“Nothing, the memory still turns my stomach... distract me, how's your family?”

She nodded in understanding, thinking his excuse was genuine. It had been quite a stomach-wrecking vision, even as she had only seen from afar.

“They're fine,” she replied. “Very happy to have me back. I still miss Matt but... it's exciting to be b— DOWN!”

He threw himself to the ground and Robin stood up, waving her wand right in time to throw a _Protego_ non-verbally, protecting them from a green light. Strike turned around from the floor and saw a dark figure stood on the footbridge that went over the tables, pointing at them with a wand. As Robin and the figure battled, some people shouted and the waiters ordered for them to hide under the tables.

“ _Desmaius!_ ” Robin shouted at last, and the figure fell over the wooden fence of the footbridge and onto a table, that broke under his weight. Strike and Robin immediately ran to it, calming people as they passed by.

“Ewan Dolohov,” he announced, looking at the unconscious man. “The entire family is in Azkaban. Well-spotted, Robin.” He conceded, honestly impressed.

“What's going on in here?!” a woman with curly hair came running, her wand in her hand.

“Don't worry, Rosmerta,” Strike faced her. “Robin's an auror as well, just-hired. She spotted this bastard as he was about to murder me, we'll take him away and we'll leave your business in peace.”

“I don't like dark wizards walking around here, Corm,” Rosmerta said sternly.

“I'll make sure to put some aurors on guard around here constantly.” He promised her.

As the two walked outside, the dark wizard floating in front of them, and apparated at the countryside around the isle of Azkaban, as you couldn't apparate directly in the magical prison, Robin had a look at the prison for the first time. It was a tall, three-faced building, with aurors walking all around it and, as they entered the building, she saw they were also inside, everywhere. They gave the prisoner to two other aurors, still unconscious, and Strike wasted no time on taking her out of the building. Next Robin saw, they were in Masham, and Strike took a deep breath.

“I hate Azkaban,” he murmured.

“At least now they no longer use aurors,” Robin pointed out.

She was an avid reader and had already gotten up-to-date with things, and new that two years before Minister Shacklebolt had forbidden the use of dementors, soul-sucking creatures that feed of your happiness. They were now isolated in a remote area where they could not feed off anyone's happiness, which would eventually extinguish them.

“Oh, otherwise I wouldn't have gone. Dementors truly have an effect on me,” Strike confessed, thinking that if she was going to be tagging along with him, she should know, in case they had to confront any.

“Don't they have a big effect on everyone?” Robin asked, as they walked side-by-side alongside the river.

“Well yes. But dementors absorb your happiness while burying you in your darkness. The more dark memories you have, the worst they can make you feel,” he explained, blushing as he felt suddenly self-conscious. “So you can do non-verbal magic, can you do a proper patronus?”

“Judge for yourself,” Robin pointed to the air in front of them. “ _Expecto patronum!_ ” she shouted. An intense light came from her wand and transformed into some sort of big bird, like a phoenix or a dragon, Strike wasn't so sure, but he was blinded by it, and therefore impressed. The creature bounced in the air a few times, until it detected no danger and slowly disappeared.

“Bravo,” said Strike, smirking at her. “Look at you, a box full of surprises.” She blushed.

“So what can you do, aside from being a lapdog?” she joked, teasing him. Strike feigned hurt and pulled his wand from his pocket. His patronus was, unsurprisingly, a big dog. “It's not that surprising that the head of aurors can do a proper patronus, you're going to have to try harder.”

“Oh really?” Strike nodded, amused. “Very well...” he pointed at the sky and fireworks came from his wand. He then murmured a spell pointing to his own throat and when he blew air, ice came and transformed into snow, falling over them. Robin grinned, closing her eyes as the snow touched her face, falling slowly.

“Wow, beautiful!” she complimented.

“So I'm not so bad, am I?”

“Not so bad at all, boss.”

They stared intently at each other. Strike found her eyes easy to get lost in, and she seemed so sweet and warm, with those pink-reddish lips, he could've been happy standing there forever.

“Thank you for saving my life today, partner,” Strike murmured at last. Her lips curved softly and she nodded.

“Just returning the favour. I know it may seem crazy that I love him but...”

“No,” he shrugged. “I get it, I told you. But the only thing that tells me about you is that you've got a heart big enough to fit everybody, even those who don't deserve it.”

“That's a beautiful thing to say,” she looked at him, touched. He shrugged vaguely.

“Deserved. Have a good day, Ms Ellacott.”

“See you on Monday, Mr Strike.”

They smiled at each other, and with a spin, Strike was out.

  
  



	6. Old friends

**Chapter 6:**

When Monday came, Robin was more than excited to be back at work. Strike took her on surveillances around Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, where they scared a few teenagers who were being too naughty, and then they walked around London keeping an eye on the muggle Prime Minister as he had some public event in central London, under the soft drizzle and surrounded by a big crowd. When Robin wondered out-loud why did they have to keep an eye on the muggle, Strike explained her that for stability in the magical world, there had to be stability in the muggle world. Both Prime Ministers were in constant communication and decided together what was best to protect the United Kingdom, and both cared about the safety of every citizen, regardless of what there was in their blood.

On Tuesday, they had three arrests, but no one that was particularly dangerous. On Wednesday, Robin accompanied Strike to a security meeting with Ilsa Herbert, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and a few other heads of departments, and then they guarded over Gringotts, the bank of wizards, for three hours, before magical police guards took over.

“You've done well for today, Robin,” Strike congratulated her that night, as they walked around Diagon Alley. Robin was starting to consider him a friend, and liked his company thoroughly.

“Than—,”

“Help!” a middle-aged woman had come out of one of the narrow adjacent alleys to Diagon's. “Help!”

“Coming!” Strike shouted, running to her, along with Robin.

“They're dead!” the woman shouted, seeing their auror badges. “They're all dead!”

“Who's dead, ma'am?” Strike asked confused.

“You have to see this.”

They followed her into the alley and up a staircase that led to a flat. She opened the door as she explained they are her neighbours and she was just going to visit when she found them.

“Stay with her,” he murmured to Robin, and he went inside while the women stood in the threshold, and Robin calmed a very distressed lady. Strike then saw a couple sitting on the sofa, eyes opened, holding two babies in their arms.

The scene was familiar; their guts drew the same message, floating in the ceiling, proving that an advanced dark wizard was to blame, and Strike had some idea who was it.

. . .

As it was the second time something like this happened, and it meant there was a serial murdered of, as they found out, families related to muggles, either mudbloods or with the adults being children of muggles, the Ministry immediately went into alarm mode. An army of magical police was sent to the scene, and Strike and Robin went back to the Ministry. Again, he looked ashen and he wasn't willing to talk much. Robin had lost her appetite for dinner and felt her own chest knotted inside, so she wasn't about to question him.

“Corm,” Kate appeared the moment they entered the headquarters. “Herbert wants to see you now.”

“What's she doing here this late?”

“Kingsley called her, after this bomb. And she said Robin should come as well, as your junior partner.”

“Have I done something wrong?” Robin asked him as they walked towards Ilsa's office.

“No,” Strike assured her, “no, you've been excellent. This is about what we've seen.”

The two arrived at Ilsa's office, and there the secretary informed them she was waiting for them at the meetings' room with the rest of the Emergency Committee.

The Emergency Committee had been created in the last few years to asses security threats that could become something else, bigger and more dangerous, and that needed to be examined with particular caution. It was formed by Kingsley Shacklebolt as Prime Minister and head of it, Ilsa Herbert as main responsible of law enforcement, Strike himself as main responsible of aurors, and the head members of the Order of the Phoenix.

The Order of the Phoenix was an independent organization that worked alongside the Ministry and that was formed by volunteers with high combat skills but who had other main jobs. Many of them were or had been aurors, but many others had other employments or none, but wanted to contribute to save the world when the worst that could happen, happened. Although there were dozens of members, it was organized mainly by the board, constituted by the main members who were usually more available for the meetings and that acted normally under the guidance of Dumbledore, who, was Hogwarts' headmaster, couldn't always be free to attend the meetings, unless it was incredibly important. The board were: Alastor Moody aka Mad-Eye, a retired auror now seventy-five who back in the day had been Strike's mentor and trainer, and who had preceded him directly as head of the aurors, James and Lily Potter, who devoted exclusively to the Order, since the Potters were rich and didn't need an actual paying job, Sirius Black, who was also rich and devoted mainly to the Order, Remus Lupin, who taught Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts, Bill, Fleur and Charlie Weasley, who represented their entire and large Weasley family, and Nymphadora Lupin aka 'Tonks', who was married to Remus and an auror since she was 17. Bill and Fleur worked at Gringotts and Charlie worked with dragons in Rumania, so they couldn't always be there either, in which case another Weasley would make it, but this time they were. Strike, Kingsley and Ilsa were also considered members of the order, and Strike's entirely family had belonged to it for as long as it had existed, although since he was in it, Ted no longer went to the meetings, as he was informed directly by Strike.

Robin was very shocked as soon as they entered the meetings' room and she saw everyone. Tonks had been one of her closest friends in Hogwarts, if not the best, one she had drifted apart from thanks to Matthew and hadn't seen in years and didn't know that belonged to the Order, and Lupin had been her own teacher, so it was weird to see him there.

“Look at that,” Lupin said as soon as they entered, smiling warmly. “Now I get the praise about the new auror, good to see you Ms Ellacott!”

“Robin! Merlin, it's been so long!” Tonks ran to hug her strongly and Strike looked surprised.

“You know each other?” Strike inquired.

“Knowing each other?” Tonks grinned, separating. “We're the best of friends since first year in Hogwarts! We were in different houses, but still, we must've played Quidditch against each other a dozen times. How long has it been?”

“For as long as I was married to a jerk who disliked magic, I'm so sorry,” Robin smiled apologetically. Tonks understood and avoided questioning in front of everyone.

“It's so glad to see you, come sit with me, I'll introduce you to my husband Remus, we had a private wedding, just my parents!” she dragged Robin away and Strike ended up sitting between Ilsa and Lily Potter in the round table.

He saw Charlie Weasley winking at Robin, who blushed and waved vaguely, and then he realized they must have also been together at Hogwarts, since Charlie was only two years older than her and must've been in Robin's older brother's year.

  
  


  
  



	7. A leader's mission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you always for the support and your comments, which are always, even if they're only emojis or short things, very much valued and appreciated and keep my work in AO3 going.

**Chapter 7:**

“Welcome everybody,” Kingsley Shacklebolt, black, broad, and with a long purple tunic, said. “The reason we're all here is because after two muggle families found dead by magic in the exact same creepy way, and an attack in The Three Broomsticks to one of our own,” he nodded towards Strike, “we've got reasons to believe someone is very willing to keep killing muggle families, endangering even fellow wizards and students who were in the pub, and we need to tackle this before it becomes a major problem.”

“I thought the guy who attacked the Three Broomsticks was one Death Eater on the run and is now in Azkaban, isn't he unrelated to the other attacks?” James Potter asked, sitting between his wife and Sirius Black, with his dark hair a complete mess as always and his bespectacled dark eyes intently focused on the Minister.

“Yes, it seems like it,” Kingsley conceded, “but Ilsa here has a different theory that got me thinking.”

“The attacks to the families all had the same message,” Ilsa took over, “they said 'you will go next, Pipsqueak'. It's a clear threat to someone, someone who likes muggles, someone who the attacker knew would see those messages straight-away. To go straight to the point, I think that threat was directed to Cormoran—,”

“Oh, come on!” Strike puffed, shaking his head, irritated.

“—and if we consider the attack in Hogsmeade was a direct murder attempt against him,” Ilsa went on, ignoring him, “the three would be related. Ewan Dolohov is brother of Antonin Dolohov, Death Eater fallen with the Second Wizarding War, as you will remember, and he was himself a lower-class Death Eater who's been hidden all these years and who might've acted following a new leader. There are aurors interrogating him right now, but so far it's not giving any clues.”

“First of all as the head of aurors, who wouldn't want to kill me?” Strike retorted. “We all here fight death itself weekly, it happens, there's no reason to believe Dolohov had anything in particular against me, he just knew who I am, which is motive enough. And there is absolutely no reason to believe those messages were directed to me. They could be empty threats, like in school when shitheads go around threatening everybody and very often they don't act upon their threats, it's just to scare people off.”

“Cormoran, you know as well as I do who called you Pipsqueak every single time, who is a known murderer, and it pisses me off you didn't even mention it to me,” Ilsa said with a hint of frustration in her voice. “Don't find such silly excuses now, who kills two families and throws empty threats, uh? I think it's a very serious one.”

“He can't have been, he disappeared sixteen years ago and there is absolutely no reason why he would be back, if he wanted me dead, he had many chances to kill me when I was just a student, and not a grown-up with way more skills than back then,” Strike said tiredly.

“Excuse me,” Robin intervened cautiously. “Am I the only one a bit lost here? Who are we talking about?”

“I second the smart lady,” Sirius added, and there was a general murmur of approval.

Strike pressed his lips together and sighed.

“Fine,” he nodded. “Ilsa here thinks my step-father Jeff Whittaker killed those families, the same way he killed my mother sixteen years ago,” Robin's eyes widened in shock, and her lips separated a little. Tonks, who had heard the story from others, elbowed her lightly to control herself. “She bases her theory on the fact that Whittaker hated muggles, is vicious and cruel, and always disliked me, calling me Pipsqueak all the time. Problem is he took my then eight-year-old brother Lavey with him, and no one's seen any of them since. The Order looked for them relentlessly for five years afterwards and my family and I have never stopped trying to find them without the slightest hint of success, he's vanished in the same fashion Voldemort sometimes did, trying to kill me now would not only be absurd and stupid, but also a huge risk to his so far well-secured safety.”

There was a moment of semi-tense silence in which, as everyone was more or less friends of Strike, no one wanted to say anything that could be even slightly hurtful or remind him further of such horrors. Finally, Moody, white-haired, with a magical eye, and more scars than one could count, spoke softer than his normally deep and strong voice.

“The possible buts of the matter aside,” he said, “Cormoran, do you think he had the knowledge, skills and cold-blood to do these things?”

Strike, who could never not respect Moody, shrugged slightly.

“He was a mediocre wizard, but he proved to be excellent at the _Cruciatus_ curse,” he murmured. “So yeah. It's been sixteen years, he's had time to improve.”

“And it would explain why he didn't attack you sooner,” Tonks added gently. “He wasn't prepared, one thing is attacking someone who loves him and trusts him as his wife, and another someone who six months after that was fighting at the Second Wizarding War like one of the adults. He had to hide, care for an eight-year-old, had a lot of things in the to-do list, but now Lavey's a grown-up and they might have joined forces, so now he'd think himself more than capable, even more since I highly doubt he'd think you could hurt your own brother.”

“Tonks is right,” Moody, who had taken Tonks under his wing in the Order, nodded in agreement. “Ilsa's theory isn't bad at all. It's more than likely, Cormoran. Did Whittaker know the Dolohovs?”

“I don't know,” admitted Strike. “He had very dubious friends, but I was in Hogwarts most of the year, so I wouldn't have seen them much... I know my mother hated them all, didn't let Whittaker bring them home near the kids. But Antonin Dolohov and Whittaker have a similar age. They might've known each other since Hogwarts, Dumbledore could tell.”

“I'll talk with him,” Lupin offered. “The older teachers will know who they got together with.”

“And I want the aurors looking after him again,” Kingsley said. “I trust I don't need to push you aside?” he added, looking at Strike, who straightened up in his seat.

“You couldn't even if you wanted,” said Strike simply, serious. “I will find Whittaker and I will make him pay myself.”

“And if Lavey's helping him, will you be capable of arresting him and even killing him if you had to? Ted said he looked a lot like Leda, could you look at her same eyes and kill him?” Moody inquired, locking eyes with Strike, who gulped.

“I will,” he said at last, and clenched his teeth. “I will kill them both before they have the chance to kill anyone else, the moment I have the chance.”

“Now, Ms Ellacott,” Kingsley continued, looking at her. “You saw the attacker in Greenwich, you disarmed him, and you saw Dolohov, do you think they could've been the same person?”

“I barely saw the attacker in Greenwich, I only saw a dark figure, hooded, I couldn't even tell you the hair length,” Robin said shyly. “But he wasn't Dolohov. Dolohov was slender, taller. Unless he would've taken a Polyjuice Potion to look bigger...”

“And in your statement you said the attacker at Greenwich went after Cormoran with a purple spell?” Moody said, nailing his eyes on her.

“Yeah,” Robin nodded. “Puple-blackish... knocked him down, but it was stronger than a _Desmaius,_ he was unconscious for a long time afterwards. The wizard looked skilled, acted very fast and it was very hard to disarm him, he used the _Avada Kedavra_ exclusively against me, but since he was bigger, he moved slower, that's why I could disarm him. He was skilled enough to disapparate without a wand, though.”

“I asked Dumbledore and he commented it may have been a powerful spell used in Austria and those areas, regularly learnt in Nurmstrang instead of _Desmaius_ , Grindelward used it,” Kingsley explained.

“Wait a moment...” Strike interrupted. “Robin, you said he only used _Kedavra_ with you, right? Not the one he used with me. So why wasn't he trying to kill me, but kill Robin? Whittaker wouldn't have an issue with the deathly curse.”

“Maybe he thought you were alone, and wanted to take his sweet time with you. With Robin, he just wanted to get rid of her and get back to you,” Lily Potter intervened. Like Robin, her hair was fiery, but a deeper redhead, and her eyes were powerful green.

“Elaborate?” Bill Weasley asked, with a similar hair colour, but slim and tall, full of freckles.

“Many Death Eaters have more fun torturing than killing. We can't forget poor Frank and Alice Longbottom,” explained Lily. “What if he was going to torture Corm and Robin's presence made him think it wasn't the best moment for that? They like that, taking their pleasure in hearing someone they hate beg to be killed.”

“Digsgusting,” Fleur Weasley, French and part-veela, shook her head.

“Oh, Whittaker would've loved that,” Ilsa agreed. “And he was big, slim though.”

“All right, we all know what to do,” Kingsley sentenced. “We need to find the Whittakers. On the other side, Cormoran, I want more patrols around, all right?”

“Consider it done,” Strike nodded, sullen.

“Wait a moment, what's the plan exactly?” Charlie Weasley inquired. “Because nothing has changed in sixteen years; we still have no idea where to look, for all we know he could be an illegal animagus and be a beetle in the forest. How are we supposed to find him?”

“Well, if we suppose we're right and he truly wants to kill me, so much he's killed families that were either muggle or related to muggles, or friends of muggles, just to throw a message at me,” Strike commented, looking thoughtful but determined. “Then it's obvious. We need to use me as a bait.”

“Not in he—,” Strike shut Ilsa up raising his hand to stop her.

“Actually,” Strike continued. “This is a family issue between me and my Godfather. The Ministry's only involvement is to protect those he's trying to kill in order to get to me, and that's where I'll put the aurors, but Whittaker is mine.”

“If you think we're going to leave you alone to battle him, you're very wrong,” Robin argued him directly, supported by nods and hums of agreement.

“There are no other options,” Strike said firmly. “I know Whittaker, he doesn't want a war or anything, he won't come to me unless he's absolutely certain I'm alone. If I die then this is over, those families will be safe, Whittaker will go back to the underground because he doesn't care about power, he only cares about revenge, and once he gets it, he's happy, he's not like Voldemort or Gregorovitch. And if I win, he'll be most likely dead, so no more problems.”

“If he kills you then a murderer is on the loose and justice hasn't been made, we can't let that happen either,” Sirius Black intervened. “He has to be imprisoned, judged and condemned, according to our law, as much as I dislike it. Murdering him can only be in self-defence, and you can't go and simply kill him out of revenge, then what difference would there be between you two?”

“I can't believe Sirius is defending our law but he's right,” Lily agreed, nodding. “Gregorovitch was imprisoned. Voldemort couldn't be. We have to imprison Whittaker if possible, and we can't put Cormoran alone on the line, we have to make a plan as a team, we'll ambush him, so he thinks Corm's alone and then we get him.”

“You can't ambush Jeff Whittaker,” strike argued sharply. “How do you suggest to do so, uh? He's not going to be so stupid to come get me when he knows he could be ambushed. He's smarter than you think, smart enough to vanish sixteen years, doesn't matter what we do he'll eventually come and get me the moment I'm alone, that's how he acts, and if he even smells an ambush, he might vanish forever. We may only have one chance to catch him, you understand? And I'm not going to lose that chance for any reason. Besides, he's most likely an animagus because otherwise he wouldn't have been able to hide so long, right? So it'd be even harder to ambush him.”

“But we can't let you—,” Robin tried again, but Strike interrupted her, although softening his tone as he spoke to her.

“What other option do we have?” Strike asked, looking at them as everyone shut up and looked troubled. “Think. Does anyone have a better plan? No?”

“We spent five years looking for Whittaker and son desperately,” Kingsley admitted, sounding crestfallen. “Leda was one of our own, Ted's one of our own, we did everything that was possible to find those people and revenge her and care for the little child. Ted pressured the Ministry, and so did I as I became Minister after the war, and we made sure every rock was lifted, every corner was registered... Corm is right. Whittaker is not easy to find, is smart and is not easy to ambush. The only option we have never tried was using Corm as a bait, because he was too young, but now...”

“I think,” Moody intervened, nodding, “we need to stop looking at Corm as the childhood's best friend, the colleague, the school friend, the young student or the boss. He's not Leda's boy anymore, he's a grown-up experienced auror and he wasn't made Head of Aurors for no reason. If anyone should sacrifice himself to try and catch this guy, it should be him. We forget there's a threat on him which means at any point he could be taken just like poor Lavey was, there is no way to tell when,” he said, old and experienced, “best we can do is plan what to do when, and not if, Whittaker goes for Corm.”

After the meeting, Robin wanted to talk with Strike, but he left quickly, and Tonks occupied her, distracting her from going after him.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you always for the support and your comments, which are always, even if they're only emojis or short things, very much valued and appreciated and keep my work in AO3 going.


	8. Freedom

**Chapter 8:**

Strike wasn't in the mood for anything. He felt angry at Whittaker and his mind was invaded by the memories of him, ones that weren't nice to have. He could remember the sound of Whittaker's hand as he slapped Leda across her face, the way he had pointed his wand at Whittaker only to have Leda stand in the middle, begging him with tears in her eyes not to hurt him.

He wasn't afraid of Jeff Whittaker. He was, in fact, eager to face him, to see him again and murder him with his very own hands, so he wasn't about to walk more carefully, hide, or try to never be seen alone. He felt like a tiger luring his prey, instead of the other way around.

When he arrived to Charlotte's manor in Scotland, it was storming, in accordance to his mood. He pretty much barged into the house, adorned with excessive luxury, too much marble, too many sculptures, too many odd and expensive paintings, too big rugs with golden sewing, and the Campbell family emblem everywhere he could see. The domestic elves Charlotte refused to free, despite Strike's insistence, welcomed them and Strike suddenly found himself indignant over Charlotte. He looked at the elves; their tired expressions, the sad eyes and, to make him completely furious, their hands looked like they had been burned.

“What happened to you guys?” Strike asked, pointing vaguely at their hands. “A cooking accident?” he knew the elves couldn't lie, and saw the panic in their eyes.

“No, sir, we were bad,” one of them said with big sad eyes.

“Lady Campbell punished us.” The other added.

“Charlotte did this to you?” Strike inquired, his tone raising by accident. The four elves nodded and he pressed his lips together. “Well, you see, I think it's time you consider me your Master. This is my house and Charlotte is about to become Charlotte Strike. Master Campbell is dead and Mistress Campbell is my mother in law now, and she's old; it should be my duty to take care of the elves, for my wife and her family, which is now mine. This land is as mine as theirs now, and as the Head of the Auror Headquarters, I have certain responsibilities. Yes, I think I own you, now that we're engaged, don't you think?”

The elves exchanged confused looks, and shrugged. One of them spoke in the name of them all.

“I suppose, Sir, that you would be the new Master of the house, now that you're engaged to Lady Campbell.”

“But not until you marry Lady Campbell, Sir,” another elf added. “Only then would you really be our Master.”

Strike cursed to his insides, but smiled politely.

“Good! Anyway, I don't understand why my love has punished you so badly, she did comment to me she had gotten angry at you and feared having crossed a line,” he said, planning quickly. “Therefore she asked me to please give you a present in her name, whatever I considered appropriate. Wait a moment and I will bring it to you.”

He hurried to the master bedroom and opened the drawer of Charlotte's gloves, grabbing a few and putting them in one of her jewellery boxes. He could hear her speaking with her mother in the office room, so he hurried back downstairs and found the elves exactly where he had left them.

“Here! Lady Charlotte told me she would like to offer you this in hopes that you may forgive her for her roughness,” Strike said, giving them the jewellery box. “There should be enough in there to compensate each and every elf working in this manor, right? This is for each and every one of you, I must leave it clear.”

Strike observed with pleasure as the elves opened the box and took the gloves with trembling hands. They didn't even look at the jewellery, they just looked at each other, passing the gloves from one hand to hand, then calling the other elves, two that worked in the kitchens, to show them, and as it sank in, they all looked at him full of excitement.

“Lady Charlotte has given us gloves. She's freed us?” one of them said.

“Yes,” Strike agreed, nodding. “I suggest you pack your belongings and leave far from this madness. It is in my knowledge that Albus Dumbledore in Hogwarts will be happy to offer you all paid jobs so you can be free elves and live in Hogwarts with others like you. Go be happy, have families, settle down somewhere beautiful and safe, travel the world if you want, and if you ever need anything, I will be happy to help you.”

The consequent celebration of the elves, who claimed how they were free to live the wonders their 'friend Dobby' had told them about being a free elf, attracted Charlotte, her mother and her younger sister. The three women were the only remainders of the Campbell dynasty, were each more malicious than the other, were all gorgeous, intelligent and skilled women, and had no mercy for anyone. Strike disliked all of them except Charlotte, with whom despite her flaws he had fell for since he met her in the Hogwarts Express the first time he boarded it. Both freshmen, he had fallen into Ravenclaw and she had fallen into Slytherin, but as they had become friends in the train, they remained friends despite the different houses, even when Strike had entered Ravenclaw's Quidditch Team as the keeper and she Slytherin's team as a chaser, and they had played rough against each other.

Their friendship went on for the first five years of Hogwarts. When Strike's mother died she held him as he broke down, and told him she loved him, which he believed. They fought hand-in-hand at the Second Wizarding War six months later, and visited each other over the sad summer, when she had comforted him with kisses, blow-ups, and his first rodeos in sex. They had been just sixteen, but shortly later celebrated their seventeen birthdays together as a couple, and got their apparition licenses together. They had been together since, but only gotten engaged during Charlotte's birthday last November, just two days before his own, when he, with his mind full of the memories in which she had been her biggest comfort and reason to live during the worst of his life, when she had never left his side, not even after losing his leg, had gotten on one knee, with an expensive ring he had taken years to be able to afford, and popped the question. He had never seen her so happy.

Now, however, he faced a very different Charlotte, one that was fuming.

“What's this scandal?” she snapped towards the elves, then looked at Strike and her expression softened, tiptoeing to kiss him. “Welcome back my love, how was the day? Were you dealing with this mess for me?”

Strike smiled and leaned to kiss her sweetly.

“My day improved just by looking at you,” he stated sincerely. She had her low moments, moments in which she was too rough, too aggressive, and made him go stay with someone else for a couple days, but she always came around for him. She always ended up being this sweet, because she loved him so much, deep inside, despite his wrongs. He knew he had done something that would make her furious, but that she would forgive him in the end. Because he didn't want the elves to get hurt again, or get in the way and hurt Charlotte, he looked at them and told them to go. They took one fearful look at the Campbells, and vanished, and then Strike faced his fiancée again. “My love, they were only being scandalous because they are celebrating that I freed them. I am so sorry I gave them something yours so they would think it was you who did it, but it was the only way, I'm sorry, love.”

The three women looked at him as if he had just announced his intention to put the manor on fire, but Charlotte silenced them with a hand.

“Please leave us alone, I will deal with this,” the women exchanged looks and the eldest and youngest left back upstairs. Charlotte looked at Strike intently for a moment.

“I am very sorry, I will compensate you, I will cook and I will do all the tasks and—,”

He couldn't finish because Charlotte slapped him so hard he stumbled, and held his face, shocked. His cheek was red and burning, and the engagement ring had cut his lip, where he tasted blood.

“How dare you to betray your wife and family like this,” she stated in a low murmur full of coldness and depreciation. “I wonder who did you think you are. Who gave you the right...”

“Lottie, darling—,”

“Silence!” Charlotte slapped him in the other cheek, and he looked at her in shock. “I did not give you permission to speak, just as I did not give you permission to steal my things and free my elves. As a matter of fact, since you seem to be so clueless about permission and such a thief, I will have to teach you some discipline. You don't give me a choice,” she struggled with him, taking his wand away before he could help it, and he observed, alarmed. She then walked away and pointed at him with both wands, furrowing her eyebrows. “I do this because I love you, and you need to learn discipline. I'm trying to help you so you can be a better man, as I have always done. _Cruccio!_ ”

The pain was indescribable. He felt as if his skin burn, as if every bone broke at once, as if his head would explode and his guts would come out. Every inch of him screamed in pain, and he wasn't conscious of collapsing on the ground nor of his screaming. After a minute or two of agonizing pain, he opened his eyes to see the ceiling, and realized he was on the ground. His chest heaved and he groaned as the pain, although considerably gone, still made his muscles cramp and itch, and the headache continued hurting. He felt as if he had fallen from the Astronomy Tower at Hogwarts and somehow was still alive.

Then, he realized, with shock, of what had just happened. His fiancée had cursed him with one of the unforgivable curses. The _Cruciatus_ curse, forbidden by law to everyone who didn't work with the law, and his own fiancée had put it on him.

She was by his side on a moment, kneeling with tears in her eyes and cradling him between her arms, sobbing softly.

“Why do you make me do such horrible things?” Charlotte cried tragically. “Why are you so mean to your wife who loves you? What have I done for you to hate me so much?”

Strike felt guilty right away. Somehow, he assimilated the shock of what had happened and put his arms around her.

“I'm sorry dear, I won't do it again. Please forgive me,” he begged, squeezing her between her arms.

During the night, however, Strike couldn't sleep, despite the exercises that had exhausted them in bed. The realization that his fiancée had tortured him with the _Cruciatus Curse_ just for freeing some elves using some gloves she didn't even use anymore, had finally sunk in his mind and he felt heartbroken. It all felt too much all of the sudden; Whittaker and, next to him, Charlotte. It took him the hours awake in bed to realize Charlotte had been torturing him for years, the same way Matthew had done with Charlotte. She made him feel it was all his fault, made him feel bad about every little thing, and even as she had used such curse on him, he had had to apologize, not her. How were they going to be married like this?

Strike slid out of bed very quietly and looked back at Charlotte. He felt his heart drumming in his throat, and his eyes prickled with tears that wanted to fill them. He was heartbroken, and he knew it. He didn't want to leave her. He wanted to slide back into the bed, snuggle her and love her, and marry her one day, but he knew he couldn't. He had helped Robin get out of such situation, and now he had to be brave and strong for his own good, or else this crazy woman might kill him. With his body still aching from the curse, Strike put on his leg and waved his wand to murmur a deafening spell on Charlotte, so she wouldn't hear any possible noise. He repeated the spell on the door so the noise wouldn't leave the room either, and then waved his wand again so all of his belongings started piling up in his suitcase and bags, neatly organizing while he got dressed.

He was leaving.

  
  



	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9:**

When Strike's eyes opened, he was stretched out on a large bed at one of the Leaky Cauldron pub's bedrooms in its second storey. He was exhausted, and before he had even moved he remembered the letter he had made fly to Charlotte -because he loved his owl and feared Charlotte would kill it if he sent her- where he had tactfully explained to her that although he would not tell a soul about her using the _Cruciatus Curse_ despite its illegality, he would not maintain any sort of relationship with her in the future and he considered their engagement broken and finished.

It felt like a weight had settled in his chest, but as he saw the sunlight streaming through the curtains and Mawes, his owl, jumping around the wooden floor pecking about, he realized he ought to let someone know he was feeling sick and would not be going to work. He knew this would arise suspicion, as he had never missed work, but now he didn't want to see anyone. He wanted to focus on making a plan to catch Whittaker, and forget the world for a few hours, and besides, his muscles did feel a bit painful still after the curse. He got cold sweat just by remembering the pain.

Therefore, he had asked Tom, the landlord, to please hide his presence in the Leaky Cauldron, pretend he had never stepped there the night before, even if Kingsley himself asked. Strike knew Tom was trustworthy. Strike also knew Ilsa would be upset if she heard about what had happened and Strike hadn't gone to her house last night, but deciding for this room instead of Robin's house, or the Herberts', or Lucy's, was one of the decisions made for him to have some space away from anyone.

Strike got out of the bed, searched for ink and his quill, threw Mawes some food, and sat at the desk on a corner of the room. He dipped the quill in the dark blue ink he liked to use and started writing, deciding to write instead to Robin, who would be far nicer.

_Robin,_

_I woke up with a throbbing headache and I have decided to take my first day off ever to rest and take care of myself. I am also using my free time to think of ways to catch Whittaker, so I won't get behind with work._

_Do not worry, it's just a headache, but I thought work would only make it worse, given the stressful circumstances of it. I will see you soon. In the meantime, please stick to Tonks and Kate, who are two of the greatest aurors there are. Kate will give you work in my absence._

_Show this letter to her, so I don't have to write much more. I will inform Kingsley myself._

_Thank you and have a nice day,_

_Cormoran._

He signed the letter and gave it to Mawes.

“Give this to Robin Ellacott, and hurry back right away because I have more work for you. Thanks Mawes.”

The owl accepted his caring petting and flew away through the window he opened. While she left, Strike sat back and proceeded to write to his boss.

_To Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic,_

_I am sorry to inform you I will not going to work today. Yesterday was too much of a big day for me and I felt the need for one day off, but I promise to be back tomorrow._

_I have already informed Ms Ellacott, so she knows her duties for the day._

_Thank you,_

_C. Strike._

The second letter parted as soon as Mawes arrived, and then he lied down on the bed and sighed. He wasn't even hungry.

. . .

Robin Ellacott had only just returned from patrolling and having lunch with Tonks when she saw Ilsa Herbert waiting at her desk. When their eyes met, Ilsa smiled and walked quickly to her, her robes moving in the air like a flag as she approached her.

“Hello, Robin, how did it go? Please come to my office so we can talk privately.”

“Okay, fine,” Robin followed her and sat with her on a small sofa around a small table at her office. “What's up?”

“I have been informed about Corm's absence today, which is weird, because I expected for him to write to me, but he must be mad after yesterday for some reason, because I intervened and... anyway...” Ilsa blushed and looked visibly uncomfortable. “Look, he's my best friend and if he's not feeling right I'd like to be there, but he clearly doesn't want me there. He likes you though, you two get along... so I was hoping you could go and just check on him for a moment. Shouldn't take you longer than half an hour, uh?”

“Mrs Herbert,” Robin said cautiously after a moment of thought, “I would love to see Cormoran as well, of course I do care about him as well, but I think he wants to be alone and rest. I think if he wanted you, or me, he knows where we are, and I think right now he needs me to be here and do my job while he tries to be hundred percent to do his. I am his right hand here, and if he is not here then I shall be, and I shall devote to my auror duties because there are families being attacked, Mrs. I can't get distracted, not even to be a good friend.”

“Of course, but what's half an hour Robin? Please, there are plenty of aurors here if anything—,”

“I will visit him when my day ends, not before,” Robin said firmly, despite the fact that she was talking with her boss, who clearly didn't expect for her to refuse. “I'm sorry Mrs Herbert, I know you love him, but you are mothering him, and he's thirty-two. He knows how to take care of himself. He's fine. You need to stop worrying. Have a good day.”

Robin stood up, but when she was about to go, had turned away and was gripping the door-handle, Ilsa spoke with a very sad voice.

“If you had seen him go through the things I've seen, you would understand.”

She turned to face Ilsa, and saw Ilsa wasn't looking at her anymore. She looked truly sad and was looking down at her hands in her lap. Robin sighed and walked to her.

“All I know is that yesterday he was put through a lot, the worst of his life exposed to a bunch of people, and things were revealed to me about his life, very personal things, that he didn't even have the opportunity to decide to tell me or not. I know he must be feeling many things, not necessarily mad at you, but since we took the power from him to decide and tell me and the others things because he wanted and not because he had to, I want to give him some power back. Power to decide. To protect his life, to choose a move and make it, instead of us taking it all from him and making him feel so vulnerable. I do understand your concern, but you're not making him any favours, and he's my boss. I can't just harass him for information.”

This time she left and didn't look back. However, once the work day ended and she was leaving the Ministry, she sat on a bench in muggle London, thinking about where he could be. If he wasn't with the Herberts, he was unlikely to be with his sister, and he could only be home. But home was, as far as she knew for the time she had been working with him, a manor in Scotland, where he lived with his fiancée, that, Tonks had confided her, was a 'snob little bitch'. Robin couldn't just show up in Scotland, so she went back to her family home in Masham.

“Heya!” she was welcomed by a choir of voices as she arrived into the homey dining room, where her whole family sat, including her sister-in-law Jenny.

“Hello everyone,” Robin smiled, sitting between her brothers.

Conversation drifted to how each one's day had been, what they had done, how was work, those things. Jonathan had just graduated from Hogwarts last summer, and since he was the youngest of the siblings, that marked the end of the Hogwarts era for them. Now, he was, like the others, busy trying to live as an adult. Linda questioned them about Christmas plans in a couple days, and food was passed around and stomachs filled, and Robin felt cheerful for once.

“Oh, I had forgotten! Haven't you all heard the gossip?” Jenny inquired at one point, over dessert.

“What goss?” asked her husband curious.

“Robin's boss,” she looked at Robin, who raised and eyebrow and shook her head briefly, in a silent 'what?' question, lost. “Well she left her fiancée.”

“What?” Robin exclaimed, surprised.

“My friend Lisa is friends of someone close to the Campbells,” said Jenny. “They're quite the family, did you know? Like the Malfoys. Rotten and Slytherins, with questionable companies, a lot of power and rich to their eyebrows. They have a lot of ego, of course, so they don't want to say it out loud, but my friend said her friend, the one close to the Campbells, had told her how angry the Campbells are now, after Strike left last night. They're looking for him like crazy, furious.”

“Didn't you know?” Martin asked his sister, raising a dark eyebrow.

“I had no idea. He didn't came to work today, called in sick. Jenny, how sure was Lisa?”

“Very,” Jenny said, nodding over her piece of cake, “I told you, she's got good relations... and in any case, I'm telling you if he was really sick, he wouldn't be staying at that manor. It is said that he tends to leave the house whenever Charlotte Campbell gets complicated, the Campbells are the talk of the gossipers, there's always something. I heard she used the date Jago Ross.”

“Jago Ross? The Viscount of Croy? From one of the oldest and most important wizard families in Scotland?” Robin inquired, surprised.

“Jesus darling, you've missed so much, everyone knows that, is part of the reason why people love to gossip about them,” Linda commented, opening a bottle of Scotch. “Jago's father went to school with Anthony Campbell, they were best friends, so naturally they expected their children to get together and unite the two powerful families. Mr Ross went on to get the job that today occupies Ilsa Herbert, and he was almost a Minister, while Mr Campbell owned The Daily Prophet until his death a few years ago. Anyway, Charlotte and Jago grew up surrounded by the paparazzi, and for what I've heard, he expected her to fly to his arms like every other girl, but she went to Cormoran. But her relationship has always been quite on and off, that's why when she got engaged, it made the front page of every magazine, and every time it was off, she was with Jago Ross.”

“Bet she flies to his arms now,” Michael commented, shaking his head and accepting a small glass of Scotch.

“Wasn't a Ross who invented the cure for the Dragonpox?” Jonathan asked.

“Jago's grandmother,” Michael nodded. “That's why they first got so famous. But they're snobs, and pretty insufferable, for the little I know. And Jago has a fame of being temperamental and drunkie.”

“Tomorrow it'll be in all magazines that the engagement broke,” Jenny opined, leaning into Stephen as he put an arm around her shoulders. “Even the Campbells can hide such bomb for long. The magazines are dying to get the gossip.”

Robin frowned in concentration. She thought she knew where to find Strike now.

  
  



	10. Confessions

**Chapter 10:**

Since it wasn't too late, Robin went to the Leaky Cauldron. She thought that a humble man like Strike, independent and rough, would want to be somewhere alone, but safe. No one would look for him there, at least not until the magazines uncovered the gossip about his broken engagement. She pretended she was going to the bathroom upstairs and made a detour through the long corridor that led to the bedrooms, walking quietly over the cracking wooden floor. She didn't know how to figure out which room was Strike's, but she wasn't going to ask Tom, because if Strike wanted to be alone, he would've told Tom to keep his presence in secret.

She pressed her ear for a few seconds against each door, until finally, she heard the distinct walking, with a bit of a limp, that she had learnt to identify as Strike's. She knocked on the door.

“Yeah?” his rough voice inquired from inside.

“It's Robin.”

Strike went quiet for a moment, but then he opened the door. He looked pale and sick, with bags under his eyes and hadn't shaven that day. He was in what resembled pyjamas, and had his wand in his hand.

“What's the secret code for suspicious behaviour Robin Ellacott and I have?” he asked.

“What?”

“Answer!” Robin was taken aback, but answered.

“Code Brown.”

Strike's wand lowered.

“Sorry, I had to make sure you weren't an impostor. Come in, what gave my presence here away?” he asked, closing after she came.

“I heard a rumour that your engagement broke,” Robin said, looking around. The room was neatly organized, and the bed sheets looked a little crinkly, with a book on top of them, which indicated he had been reading in bed, if she had to bet. “I wasn't sure if it was true, but I thought if it was, and knowing you're not with Nick and Ilsa and you wanted to be alone, you'd be where every stray wizard goes.” She said this with a kind half-smile, and he laughed.

“I knew you were one of the smart ones,” Strike nodded, going for a bottle of Scottish Firewhiskey he had already opened and sat on the desk under a window, next to the empty owl carrier. Mawes was out dinning. “Want some?”

“No, thanks.”

She sat on the feet of the bed and Strike poured himself a glass and dragged the chair, sitting in front of Robin and sipping from his drink.

“So what do I owe the pleasure?” he inquired.

“I was worried about you,” Robin admitted, blushing a little. Strike looked surprised. “Oh, come on, you saved me, you gave me the job I love the most, and you're one of my very few friends and my boss, I give a bugger about you.” Strike's lips formed a small smile, hearing that word, that sounded cute in her lips.

“You're a good friend, Robin,” he said, and she thought he sounded a little drunk.

“How much have you drank today?” she asked him.

“More than I should,” he confessed, and sighed. “It's been a shit day if I'm honest.”

“So it's true, about your engagement. I'm sorry.”

“Don't be,” he shook his head. “Charlotte was a bitch. I love her, but the same way you love Matthew, Robin. We love people who treat us wrong, who don't deserve us, who are rotten to the chore, and we just choose to see the best in them. I left her. And you know what's funny?”

“What?”

“You say I saved you, but it was you who made me leave her,” Strike said. She looked surprised at him. “You see, last night there was a moment in which I realized... I remembered how you spoke about him, and it was the way I was speaking of her in my mind. I was blaming myself, apologizing for things I shouldn't have to... anyway,” he sighed deeply, shaking his head, and sipped again. “I thought I wouldn't be able to look at you in the eye again if after forcing you out of Matthew's hands I stayed with someone like Charlotte.”

“That's silly,” she said simply, “Cormoran, you sure would know I am the last person who would judge you, knowing why one stays.” He looked relieved, and tried to smile at her, then failed and looked down. “Are you actually sick?”

“Sort of,” Strike answered. “I woke up with the worst headache and I felt like... like absolute crap. I've been trying to feel better, but...” he shrugged.

“Why didn't you go to Nick and Ilsa or your sister?” Robin asked, not with judgement, but in a gentle way, sad for him.

“Because as much as I love them, they all have always told me who Charlotte truly was, and I never wanted to listen. I felt it would be humiliating for me to admit... and I didn't want for them to be hurt or furious in empathy for me. I thought if they didn't know what she had done, they wouldn't feel the pain. And I can't tell them what happened either, and I wasn't going to lie to my best friends so... I stayed here. I wanted to be alone.” Robin nodded slowly. “I don't want anyone to worry about me, Robin, even less them. When you've been in hell and you've seen people cry because they suffered from the pain you're going through, not knowing what to do to help you, you don't want to put them through that again. You would rather cope alone, because you love them, and you know they're happy when they think you're happy.”

“I get it,” Robin murmured, nodding in agreement. “Everyone wants to protect everyone, but in the end you're just hurting separately. Ilsa came wanting for me to look for you during the day, she was so worried, she thought you hadn't gone to her because you were mad because she pushed you to say stuff at the meeting.”

“I'm not mad at her, these are our dynamics. She pushes me too far, I get bothered for a couple hours, she opens a bottle of butterbeer and hands me my goddaughter, and we're good. Believe me, Robin, whatever pain they have now, is nothing compared to the one they'd have if they had seen me last night, when I could hardly stand on my own two feet.” He spoke low, tired.

“Oh, Cormoran... what happened?”

Strike's eyes fixed on hers and her breath caught in her throat. They were impossibly dark green, like emeralds covered by clouds, but what truly struck her was the amount of sadness in them. How they looked tearful and broken.

“You have to promise you will never tell anyone.”

His voice sounded as broken and weak as he suddenly looked.

“You have my word.”

He gulped and nodded.

“This isn't just emotional pain, Robin. Charlotte, she...” he shook his head. It was still hard to believe, and saying it out loud seemed too difficult. “She... she...” Robin put a hand over his on his knee.

“It's okay,” she said gently. “She's gone. It's okay.”

“Cruciatus,” Strike said simply. Robin looked confused at first and then her lips separated as her eyes widened, her eyebrows raised and she looked shocked and pale.

“She tortured you?” she asked in a whisper, unable to say it out loud. He nodded.

“Robin, I wasn't going to tell you all that was told at the meeting like that... it wasn't like I wanted to hide things from you, it's just... I don't want you to think I'm some dude with a too dark past and fear me and run away,” he commented, his voice still low and raspy. “Or for you to look at me with pity, or to think I am too complicated and go. I was going to wait. But now you know. My step-father tortured my mother and killed her, and took my baby brother away,” his eyes filled with tears again and his lip trembled, “I've been looking for him ever since, feeling this... this pain... that no one gets. It's like if my own child had been taken. Is the anguish that never leaves and eventually just settles there like... I don't know what it is to live without that heaviness inside, you know? And Charlotte, no one likes her, but she was different with me. She didn't look at me with pity, she didn't treat me as if I was a baby. She was rough enough, she pushed me, pressured me, made me laugh until I forgot all the anguish. She looked for them with me. She held me when I couldn't take things anymore. And she always push me forward. She wasn't the damn devil. She's the only one who knows that Jeff Whittaker liked to use that curse on me.”

“No...” she muttered before she could help it. He nodded, finding himself unable to stop, and finished his glass on one sip.

“He taught me to do them right you have to hate the person you're doing it to. You have to feel the rage, the anger, the hate... let it become physical pain. He started when I was twelve. I came from my first year in Hogwarts feeling like now I could stop him from being a dick to Mum. He'd take her money, spend it around, get whores, use her for sex, and she thought that was love. The minute I stood up to him, he told me that same sentence you've been reading in those muggles. You will go next, Pipsqueak. He said it every time I pissed him off. And then the minute he could find an excuse, he'd take me somewhere alone, and he'd torture me for hours. He said he'd stop if I made him stop, but I never could, he was too strong. And he told me if I told anyone, he'd do it to Lucy and Lavey. It's the most excruciating physical pain I've ever known, and when I heard he had done it to Mum before he killed her... I knew he didn't love her. Try going to bed every day knowing the exact pain your mother suffered as she died, until she begged to die. I never thought Charlotte would do that to me, but I knew then she couldn't love me. It hurt that much because she despises me,” a tear fell down his cheek and he looked down angrily. “My muscles still ache, you know? My entire body still hurts with the leftovers of it... so I didn't lie. I wasn't feeling like going to the office and pretending I'm fine.”

Robin leaned forward and hugged him on impulse. He went rigid, but then he put the glass aside and hugged her back, his heavy weight dropping on her arms, but she held her ground and didn't pull away. He smelled of smoke and something masculine, and she of a perfume of roses. He felt his joints relax as he leaned into her.

“You must think I'm a mess,” he murmured after a while, pulling away. Robin went to pour herself a glass of the firewhiskey, and sat again, drinking from it. She needed some liquid courage.

“Yes,” she smiled sadly. “But so am I. Do you think having an abusive husband is the worst I've lived?” Strike looked at her feet.

“Your feet seem natural,” he joked, and she snorted a laugh.

“I was raped,” she said simply. “Rape and attempted murder. It was another wizard, one summer after I had just left Hogwarts. It's why I married Matthew, 'cause he felt safe. Bastard who did it ended up in Azkaban for three years.”

“Shit. That's fuckin' nothing.”

“I know.”

“I'm sorry Robin,” he said, feeling angry at that bastard.

“It's okay. I've moved on. Thanks to you, now I'm a hardcore auror.”

“Damn right you are. One of the best I've seen,” he nodded, convinced. She smiled gently at him.

“And you're the best boss I've ever had.”

“Cheers!” he smiled back, and she felt victorious having made him smile.

“So, any other past crap you want to confess? How did you lose your leg, for example?”

“Ah, that was less traumatic,” Strike snorted a laugh. “It was years ago... I hadn't been an auror for long, not far from your age now... I was under Mad-Eye's wing. He was younger then, and he was fierce, and one of the most respected aurors ever, half Azkaban he imprisoned them himself. Anyhow, that meant I was the fierce guy by his side while he did that. He called me fearless. So one time we both went on a mission in Asia, and were confronted by Fiendfyre. Moody tried to stop it as we tried to scape, it was somewhere we couldn't disapparate from, so we ran... a tongue of fire got to my foot. All I remember is intense pain, then being blinded by the flames, and next I was waking up in St Mungo's. A healer told me Moody had managed to stop the Fiendfyre and get us both away from there, but that the fire had immediately incinerated my foot and part of my leg. Good thing is it cauterized the wound automatically. That's how Moody saved my life, and I became his most admired auror, in his own words, because he thought I'd go home, I'd be too scared... instead I learnt to use a magic prosthesis, got fit and came back. I admire that man like a second father, you know? Right after my uncle. I wanted to be his right hand more than anything, to be as great of an auror as he is.”

“I think you managed.”

“Thanks,” he looked satisfied.

Their glasses clunk against each other and the conversation changed into more absurd but relaxed things, bursting laughter and sympathetic, amused smiles as they enjoyed each other's company and forgot about their torments, until at last, they fell asleep on Strike's bed, lying next to each other over the covers.

  
  



	11. Closer

**Chapter 11:**

When Strike woke up in the morning, he felt strangely like a new person. The scent of roses was still present in his nostrils, but he was still surprised to roll over and see Robin asleep next to him, back-to-back. He got up, went into the bathroom to get dressed, and took a good dose of healing potion to make sure he was hundred percent back into the game. He did look better, shaved and happy. It had been a fun night with Robin. She was incredibly beautiful and under other circumstances, she would have been the kind of girl he had a one-night-stand with, rebound. But she was his employee, and she was also going through a difficult situation, and she was becoming one of his best friends. She was incredibly intelligent, kind, caring, and funny. She was everything Charlotte wasn't and did better everything Charlotte did good.

“Merlin,” Robin had woken up and sat up looking at him. “Cormoran? Oh...” she looked around and remembered. “I'm sorry, I crashed.”

“It's okay,” Strike smiled at her warmly. “How did you sleep?”

“Pretty good actually. Pass me some of...?” she pointed to the healing potion, as she was feeling a headache, and he filled her a glass and gave it to her. “Thanks,” she sipped, “how are you feeling?”

“Still a little achey, but as if I had done a lot of exercise, otherwise I'm excellent and ready to work. Thank you for last night, Robin. Your company was just what I needed.” Robin nodded, smiling back.

“You're a good guy, Cormoran. Don't throw yourself away for some brat,” she stood up and checked her watch. “It's still rather early. What do you think if I go change really quick and meet you in Florean Fortescue in about half an hour? We have an excellent day for some ice-cream before work.”

“Ah, so smart,” Strike nodded, enthusiastic. “I'll see you then.”

Strike used the time she was gone to leave her bedroom neatly organized, try to brush his hair, and walk calmly through Diagon Alley to the ice-cream shop. He waved to some of his aurors, that were already walking around doing surveillance, and sat under the sun at the terrace, chatting with old Florean. Robin came looking stunning as always, but professional with her work robes over a blouse and jacket, with her 'combat boots' on. She spent a few minutes chatting with Florean as if he was an old friend, and then they got their ice-cream. Strike liked chocolate, and Robin liked coconut and pistachio, so he made sure to memorize her tastes.

“I didn't know you had such a good relationship with old Florean,” Strike commented as they sat eating.

“Yeah, my Mum worked for him when she was a student, to make some money in the summer, so she introduced him to my brothers and I as we arrived,” she explained. Strike noticed she had some ice-cream in her chin and on impulse, picked it up with his thumb and licked it off his finger.

“Sorry, you had a bit of...” he explained as soon as he noticed what he had done. Robin's eyes had dilated and glued to his thumb. She gulped and smiled, blushing.

“No problem. You're half-dog anyway,” she joked, and they both laughed.

They walked back to the Ministry together and she commented he should probably talk to Ilsa, so after they made act of presence in the Auror Headquarters, Strike went alone to the small office his best friend had. She was already busy at work, punctual as always, and surprised to see him there.

“Corm, hi,” she said cautiously, trying to decipher his mood. He smiled and unexpectedly leaned to hug her as she was sitting. He squeezed her gently and kissed her head.

“Good morning boss,” he saluted cheerfully.

“Morning, are you okay?”

“Never been better,” he answered, stretching out before sitting on a chair. “What a sunny day, isn't that odd? Feels nice. How's my goddaughter?”

“She's dying to see you, she adores you,” Ilsa smiled, relieved to see him in such a good mood. “So that headache...?”

“Gone and forgotten. What did I miss?”

“Nothing much. Corm...” Ilsa bit her lip and he raised his eyebrows questioningly. “There is a rumour that you and Charlotte... well, that you've broken-up.”

“Good news fly fast,” he nodded. “Yeah, I broke the engagement off and left her. I'm staying at the Leaky Cauldron now, it's nice, great views of Diagon Alley.” He spoke as if he was talking of the weather, and took one of the sweets Ilsa kept on a small glass container on her desk and put it into his mouth.

“What?” Ilsa was genuinely surprised. “Oh, Corm...!”

“Ilsa, it's all right, I promise,” Strike reassured her. “I'm happier without her. Thing is after meeting Robin and Matthew I noticed... you all were right. Charlotte's nuts, she's a bad person, and she's toxic, so I decided to cut her from my life for good. If I'm completely honest with you when I woke up this morning I felt like the luckiest guy out there, I'm happy to get rid of her, be here at work, have the great friends I have... I don't need that bitch.”

“Well, in that case I'm happy for you, and I agree, you could do much better than her. Actually, why don't Robin and you come for dinner on Friday? Nick will be cooking that Greek thing you love.”

The auror went back into the headquarters and after organizing the teams for the day, took Robin out for a surveillance in Great Yarmouth, the east coast of England, where magical communities lived alongside muggle ones. Because he was a sea man, he immediately proposed a walk around the beach, doing surveillance, and commented Ilsa's proposal, with Robin was happy to accept.

“Look how beautiful this is,” Strike said as they stood looking at the ocean. His nostrils filled with the smell of salt and Robin looked at him intently. He looked younger now, and the ocean breeze made his curls entangle, making her feel like reaching a hand to untangle them. His lip had a long scar to his nose, and his eyes looked greener with the light, a dark orb around the little black pupil. He must have been truly handsome as a teenager.

“It is,” she agreed, and moved to look at the ocean, hiding her blush. Strike looked at her, and felt his stomach flip as he noticed the way in which the sun made her hair look like gold and her eyes were the same blue-grey colour of the ocean. The sun shun on her freckled nose and she seemed so relaxed and content.

“What are you doing now with your life? Any extra-curricular activities?” he asked out of curiosity.

“Uh...” Robin shrugged. “I'm horse-riding again. My uncle has a farm with horses and I've always loved them.”

“Oh,” he snorted a laugh. “Of course you had to be that much skilled.” Robin giggled.

“What, is it a crime to be flawless?” she joked.

But they didn't have time for more jokes. Suddenly they heard screams and looked around to see a dark mass flying from the ocean towards the beach, freezing the water as they flew lower. Strike felt his blood go cold, but managed to create a patronus. His dog flew next to Robin's unsurprising horse and a few other patronus of other wizards and witches in the area, that quickly ran over to unite forces. At least two hundred dementors approached them, the waves becoming ice sculptures, the sun gone, and Strike observed powerless as his patronus vanished in the darkness.

  
  



End file.
